The Bible as Literature vs. The Gospel as History

John Dominic Crossan, Render unto Caesar: The Struggle over Christ and Culture in the New Testament

How should Christians interact with politics and power? This isn’t a new question; Jesus’ own followers and opponents asked this question during his lifetime. But especially today, as Christian faith and Biblical language gets used to both support and oppose American political power, the so-called Nova Roma. New Testament scholar John Dominic Crossan has some ideas, apparently designed to make everyone, secular and religious alike, as uncomfortable as possible.

Crossan, a Biblical historian and laicized Catholic priest, is just one among several scholars currently active who have dedicated their careers to pursuit of the phantom dubbed “the historical Jesus.” I find Crossan preferable to most because he avoids the extremes of, on one hand, academic obscurantism, or on the other, populist luridness. He uses difficult scholarly language, but always explains terminology, and propounds ideas at length, but never windily.

That doesn’t mean he’s a middlebrow popularizer. Crossan left the clergy because he became persuaded that Scripture wasn’t inerrant, that extrabiblical sources were more trustworthy than the Gospels, and that Jesus’ divinity wasn’t literal. This puts him in the awkward position of being no longer Christian, in the conventional sense, but not secular or irreligious either. He has, by all accounts, reveled in this liminal duality, guaranteed to discomfort everybody.

This volume is, I’ll admit, one of Crossan’s less accessible. His title is somewhat misleading; he addresses the “Render Unto Caesar” account, common to the synoptic Gospels, early on, then largely abandons it, more interested in a global rather than particular inquiry into First-Century political theology. Rather, he addresses, in sweeping terms, the question of how Christians could, and did, accommodate the pressures of assimilation with Roman authority.

Crossan’s first part addresses the Revelation of John. Though Crossan’s career has largely avoided apocalyptic themes, he presumably couldn’t avoid this, because the Revelation’s explicitly political, anti-Roman sentiments have been used recently by end-times theologians and political tub-thumpers. The Revelation’s violent anti-statist sentiments have often given more moderate Christians the willies, for reasons Crossan explains succinctly. This book’s triumphalism often contrasts with Gospel themes of nonviolence.

John Dominic Crossan

Then Crossan transitions into a comprehensive look into political themes in the Luke-Acts duology. Here, I admit, I nearly stopped reading. Crossan does something I haven’t previously seen in his mass-market books: he chases a rabbit trail. Crossan spends entire chapters, plural, determinedly proving that Luke the Evangelist (whom he believes isn’t Luke) wrote Luke-Acts as a single integrated work in two volumes, not two separate narratives, as sometimes postulated.

This intricate, granular analysis proves ultimately relevant to Crossan’s point, but only at some length. He presents the duology as literature, not history (or pseudo-history), and seeks the “main character” rather than defining themes. Though this message proves ultimately relevant, it does so in ways most readers won’t find relevant to spiritual inquiry or personal growth. This passage is scholarly and abstruse, in ways Crossan’s mass-market work usually avoids.

Finally, Crossan breaks down Jesus as he appears in the Jewish-Roman historian Josephus. This part most accurately reflects themes found throughout Crossan’s corpus, that external sources are more trustworthy than canonical Scriptures, because they aren’t colored by Christological purpose. This makes sense from Crossan’s “historical Jesus” premise, which seeks philosophical rectitude without recourse to divine revelation. Yet I find this passage least satisfying, because it seems entirely self-directed.

By Crossan’s own admission, Josephus mentions Jesus barely ten times, John the Baptist only once, and early Christian missions never. Crossan supplements this paucity with references from other contemporary sources, like Philo of Alexandria. The ultimate outcome, though, is a Jesus grounded in history, but absent of message, a complete historical cypher. This Jesus is arguably better because he makes no demands, and receives, rather than distributes, a moral core.

Don’t misunderstand me: Crossan isn’t wrong, in the factual sense. When he spotlights the contradiction between Revelation’s violent, standoffish politics, and Luke-Acts’ more accommodationist stance, he acknowledges a friction many devout Christians have wrestled with. Crossan is palpably uncomfortable with the Gospels’ laissez-faire attitude toward historicity. He wants a factually ironclad Gospel, free from contradiction. Let’s be honest, so do seven-year-olds in Sunday School.

I think Christians probably should read this book. I believe in balanced libraries, not balanced books; though Crossan’s analysis will disappoint believers and skeptics alike, some spiritual frustration is often beneficial. Just realize going in that Crossan’s analysis reflects John Dominic Crossan, not his elusive “historical Jesus.” Crossan looks for answers, but astute readers will emerge with the real goal of learning, that is, better questions.